Somber reminder

October 26th

For the last two days, I’ve been house-sitting in the house where I was born, and where I grew up as a child, and spend countless hours and days there since then. My mom lives here now with her sister (my aunt). The house barely reminds me of the one I remember from my childhood days, it was renovated and remodeled many times and is now a modern and pleasant place to live. There is a great garden in the back and the convenience of closeness to the city center with the quietness of the suburbs.

For many years, I visited my mom there three or four times a week. I enjoy those visits most of the time, and when I don't — I know I will the next time. It is a warm and inviting place, with usually something being cooked or baked in the kitchen, with a lazy cat and energetic dog playing together in the living room, and just a happy noise and familiar and comfortable buzz of living. It is a definition of a family home, where everything fits just right with all the well-worn comforts, and even food tastes better there.

My mom is away for several weeks, and her sister (my aunt) had to go away for a couple of days as well this week. I arrived there after work on Monday and immediately was struck by an eerie silence. I am not used to this place being so quiet. So I walked through the house and out the back, just looking around and trying to get used to it. I couldn't, I even turned on the TV just so there would be some background noise, but that only amplified the reality that dawned on me:

This silence in my childhood home (and a place I still call my home) was only temporary this week. My aunt is coming back this evening, my mom will be back next week. The house will go back to its normal, messy, and warm atmosphere soon. But there will be a day — I hope that not for many years — when this silence will be permanent. When the older generation is no longer here, this house will become my home again. And that silence will then be mine to deal with.